


I'm Okay, I Have You Guys

by SummerStormFlower



Series: Lost & Lost [1]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, Quack Pack
Genre: Absent Parents, Brotherly Love, Donald Duck is a good uncle, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Gen, Moving On, Recovery, Scars, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, it's sad but there's lots of comfort and love, learning that there is hope, the triplets are teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerStormFlower/pseuds/SummerStormFlower
Summary: Scrooge McDuck's death hit everyone hard, but it hit Dewey the hardest. When he falls apart, his brothers help him pick up the pieces. To take his mind off of their uncle, Dewey tries to look for someone who he should've known would be impossible to find. When he falls apart again, his brothers help him pick up the pieces again, and he realizes that everything will be okay as long as he has them.





	I'm Okay, I Have You Guys

Huey knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. Any other night, he would have gone back to sleep when he saw it was two a.m. But something was wrong this time. He could sense it. A dreadful feeling sat on his chest. Something was very, very wrong.

The dreadful feeling only intensified when he saw that Louie had woken up at the same time as him - perhaps a little bit after - and in the same fashion. He looked worriedly at Huey.

"Where's Dewey?"

Huey's stomach dropped.

He almost threw himself over the edge of his bunk to check the bed below him that Dewey slept in. It was empty. The sheets had been tossed aside, and the pillow was laying on the floor. Dewey was nowhere in sight.

"Bathroom?" Louie said, but he clearly didn't believe himself. Huey could see everything he was feeling reflected back at him in Louie's eyes.

Huey climbed down from his bed, and Louie jumped down from his hammock, grabbing his green cap to put on his head. 

Uncle Scrooge's funeral was just last week. He had died peacefully in his sleep on the sofa in his mansion. It was abrupt and unexpected, hitting them all like a ton of bricks. Uncle Donald had been distant and quiet. The only person who could get him to talk was Daisy. Louie had cried for hours. Huey had been sensitive and angry, snapping easily. 

Dewey, on the other hand, hadn't really reacted. It was like he'd shut down. Huey had gotten mad at him for not feeling anything, but then found out that Dewey couldn't feel anything. Anything at all. Not even his own body. Huey apologized for yelling at him a couple days ago, and asked if he was doing okay. Dewey told him he didn't know. Nobody seemed to know how they felt, and if they did, they were sad. Since Louie had said the same thing earlier that day, and Huey didn't know where he himself was on the scale of okay, he'd left things at that. Now he wished he'd done more.

"This is Dewey's writing," Louie suddenly said, picking up a note that was on his desk. He started reading it and stopped moving.

"What does it say?" Huey asked, the dread creeping up his throat, and he wondered if he was going to throw up.

When Louie didn't answer him, Huey shook his shoulder. Louie gave him a horrified look. Huey didn't need him to say anything to understand.  
_____________________________________________________________________

They found Dewey crying on the riverbank three blocks away from their street, and relief flooded through them. Sweet, sweet relief seeped into their tired, worried bones.

Louie sprinted over to Dewey, a bunch of words tumbling out of his beak as fast as a train, his voice cracking and breaking.

"Oh thank goodness, you didn't - Are you crazy?! What were you thinking? It's alright now. You're alright. I love you, I know I don't say it often, but I love you so much." Tears ran down Louie's face as he spoke. He threw his arms around Dewey's neck, and Dewey curled up in his embrace, clutching him like a lifeline.

Huey knelt down, combing his hand through Dewey's hair, and reveling in the feeling of Dewey; the physical feeling of him, the feeling of him right here, the feeling of his physical existence. 

"You scared us," Huey croaked.

"I'm sorry," Dewey sobbed, grabbing Huey's arm and holding onto him tightly, and Huey realized what had happened. All the pain and sadness and loss had ambushed Dewey and overwhelmed him, and he'd just wanted to see Uncle Scrooge again. Until it dawned on him what that meant.

"It's okay," Huey whispered soothingly. It wasn't okay, but Dewey needed to hear that right now.

"I'm sorry. I-I didn't know what I - I just w-wanted - I-I'm sorry."

Louie shushed him, rubbing his hand up and down Dewey's back. "Just please never do that again.

"I won't," Dewey said, wiping at his face, clutching Louie tighter, and squeezing Huey's arm. "I won't. I swear. I promise."  
_______________________________________________________________________

Huey called Uncle Donald, who came to pick them up with the camper van. He hugged Dewey tight and kissed the top of his head, whispering "I'm glad you're alright" in his ear. Then he told Huey he was proud of him for being responsible, and told Louie he was proud of him for being strong.

Donald talked quietly on the drive back.

"Your Great Uncle Scrooge was old. He had to die at some point. I'm just sorry he can't watch you boys grow up." Sixteen was a fragile age to begin with. Add a dead loved one on top of a mom lost in space and some deep-rooted abandonment issues, it wasn't pretty. It was a heap upon heaps of years of pain. Donald could only imagine what his three nephews felt, but if he could, he would heap all of that pain onto himself.

"What was he like when you were young?" Louie asked. 

Donald glanced at the youngest in the rear-view mirror. The boys had never asked him anything about his childhood before; in fact, they usually got bored when he recited a memory.

"The same," Donald replied, "Greedy, strict, kind, and adventurous. Your mother and I liked visiting him. He didn't yell like our parents."

"Really?" Louie asked with a frown, "He yelled at us a lot."

"He made us work on the farm morning to night. And when I once asked for an allowance, he made me work twice as hard."

Donald smiled when Louie laughed, "That sounds like Uncle Scrooge."

Donald nodded. The memory was as clear as day in his head. He could still see a young Uncle Scrooge calling them into the house for a nice, happy dinner. They never had to worry about saying something wrong when they ate at his house. Uncle Scrooge raised his voice when he was angry, but he never screamed at Donald or his sister. Maybe because he knew they heard enough screaming at home.

"I did something bad," Dewey said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had descended on the four of them.

"What?" Huey asked, looking at his brother in concern.

"Please don't be mad," Dewey whispered, "I just wanted to feel again."

Huey gasped and Louie's eyes widened to the size of saucers when Dewey rolled up his sleeve.

Donald parked by the curb in front of their house, then undid his seatbelt and went to the back of the camper where his nephews were seated. He gently took Dewey's arm and examined the red lines and dried blood on Dewey's skin.

"At least they're just scratches," Donald sighed. Scratches that were not deep, or fatal, or life threatening. Scratches from Dewey's fingernails that aggravated his skin, not damaged it. Scratches that will heal, and fade, and go away.  
__________________________________________________

Louie couldn't fall back asleep. When they'd went up to their room in the attic, Louie had crawled into Dewey's bed and so had Huey. The bed was clearly not made for three teenage ducks, but neither of them cared. They were reminded of when they lived with Uncle Donald on the water, and they were little, and they had to share a mattress.

Louie traced his fingers along the lines on Dewey's arm, smoothing over them, trying to erase them. They didn't belong there.

"I'm sorry," Dewey said. His voice was exhausted, and sad, and guilty.

Louie stopped what he was doing. Yes, it hurt to see Dewey like this, but Dewey was probably hurting a lot more than him. When Uncle Scrooge died, the sadness had washed over Louie like a wave, and everything made him cry. Now it was still there, but it was calm. Dewey was numb for so long, and all the feelings had violently attacked him all at once without warning. Louie didn't think that was very fair.

"You're forgiven," Louie said, cuddling against Dewey's side. He gave him a meaningful look. "It's okay."

Dewey smiled, looking like a huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. "Thanks, Lou."

And then Huey started snoring.

It didn't take long for Louie and Dewey to fall asleep as well. Nothing had changed since they were ten; Huey still hogged the blankets, Louie still sprawled out, and Dewey still kicked.  
____________________________________________________

Life returned to normal over the next few weeks. Or, as normal as it could be without Uncle Scrooge's Friday phone calls. They missed him like crazy, won't ever stop missing him, but they adjusted. They got used to it. He lived on in each of their hearts, and talking about him made it easier. Having things around them that reminded them of him made it easier. It made them feel like he was still there with him.

Uncle Donald told stories about being a little boy on a farm. Louie laughed more. Huey was done being angry. And Dewey was happier.

Life was as good as it could be.

Until Huey found Dewey at his computer in their room with about a million papers strewn across his desk. A scene that reminded him of when Dewey was doing research on their mother, bringing up all the hurt and anger Huey felt towards her.

"What are you doing?" Huey demanded.

Dewey jumped and looked at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"This isn't homework, is it?"

Dewey shook his head.

"You aren't making some sort of scientific discovery?"

Dewey shook his head.

Huey went and sat beside him, hoping and praying that this wasn't what it looked like. "Then what are you doing?"

Dewey gulped fearfully, looking back and fourth between his computer and brother. He took a deep breath, while Huey's breathing paused. He steeled himself, while Huey felt something he had vaulted up inside himself years ago open and unravel.

Dewey responded, "I'm looking for our dad."  
________________________________________________

"You're looking for our dad?" Louie asked incredulously, after Huey had stormed out of their room. He had come as soon as he heard Huey yelling at the top of his lungs, and had listened to Dewey argue with him, and watched Huey leave in a fit of rage. 

Dewey licked his lips nervously, looking at staircase that lead downstairs, like he was worried Huey would come back to yell at him some more. "Yes?" he said.

Louie was... was shocked. Was... He didn't know what to feel. Dewey had always been curious about their mom, especially when he was younger. He had asked Uncle Donald a thousand questions about her, had researched everything about her life, and even met her best friend from college. He had wanted to know every little detail about her, and was very thorough in doing so. 

Louie had been curious about their mom too. He used to fantasize about her when he was five. She was a sweet woman with pretty long hair, who loved animals just like him, and played sports in the backyard with him, and hadn't left them. She was a huge basketball fan, who watched every game with him, and let him eat all the cookies he wanted, and hadn't left them. She was a stay-at-mom, who played with them everyday, and hadn't left them. Louie had come up with a bunch of fantasies about her. What else could he do? He didn't know anything about her, and he missed her, and just didn't want to believe she'd left them because she didn't want them.

Of course, he'd wondered about their dad too. They knew even less about him than they did their mom. But they had Uncle Donald, who might as well have been their dad, and Louie hadn't needed to fantasize about him. 

"Why?" Louie asked, taking one of the papers off of Dewey's desk and looking it over.

Dewey sighed, thinking over his answer before he responded. "I guess I'm just... curious."

Louie was quiet, waiting for Dewey to elaborate more.

Dewey dragged a hand through his hair. "I think I'd like to know him... our dad. Before it's too late, you know?"

Oh. That was what this was about. Uncle Scrooge. Life. Death.

Dewey looked hesitantly at Louie. "Don't you?"

Louie thought about that for a moment. Did he want to know their dad? He had wanted to know their mom. In fact, while Huey had disapproved of Dewey researching their mother, Louie had supported him, and even helped him. Because he had wanted to know about her too. He had wanted to know for sure if she had wanted them or not. Finding out that she had left them to go into space, that she had loved her work more than them, had crushed Dewey. But for Louie, it smashed him. Because he'd tried so hard to believe for so many years in a mom that had wanted them, and as it turned out, she hadn't. She had wanted to be an astronaut. Not a mother.

If they found out that their dad didn't want them either, he wondered what it would do to Dewey, what it would do to him.

"You really want to do this?" Louie asked.

Dewey bit his lip, then hardened his expression and nodded. 

"What if you don't like what you find?"

Dewey looked at his computer. "I still want to do it. I want to find him."

Louie was scared. Terrified by how real all these papers were and how real all the words on Dewey's computer was. But what scared him more was the thought of Dewey, alone, finding out their dad didn't want them, and breaking.

"I'll help."

That way, if Dewey broke, he wouldn't break alone.

Huey was going to explode.  
_________________________________________________

Dewey hadn't meant for Huey to find out about what he was doing. He had only worked when he was positive Huey wasn't home. Because he knew that Huey hated their parents more than anyone. He knew Huey would react the way he had reacted, and he knew that Huey didn't really hate their parents, but was hurt by them. Hurt often manifested itself as anger in Huey.

He hadn't meant for Louie to find out either. He knew Louie would want to help, and he knew how hopeful Louie was. He hadn't wanted him to know, in case the results weren't what they wanted.

And they weren't.

"They couldn't find him," Dewey said, sitting on his desk chair with the letter in hand.

Louie, who had been sitting with his back completely straight, slouched in his hammock with a heartbroken look. Huey, laying on his back on the floor, looked up from his magazine, his expression guarded.

"Why not?" Louie asked quietly, brokenly.

Dewey felt his heart breaking too. "It says that he was last seen wandering the streets of Duckberg, drunk. After that, he disappeared. Nobody ever saw him again."

"Figures," whispered Louie, pulling his blanket over his head. Tiny, muffled sniffles followed soon after.

"I told you not to look for him," Huey grumbled, but he turned the other way so his siblings wouldn't see his face fall.

Dewey sighed heavily and dropped the letter, letting it flutter to the floor. He buried his face in his arms. He should've known. He did know, and yet he persisted, raising all of their hopes in the process. Now Louie was crying, Huey was holding back tears, and Dewey had destroyed himself. For a man who probably didn't even love them.

"At least we tried," Louie said, the words coming out as a sob, "I'm glad we at least tried."

"Yeah," Dewey agreed, humoring the youngest's attempt at optimism, "Yeah, I'm glad we tried too." He shut his eyes tightly, gripping his hair, torn between needing to cry and needing to shout. He was such an idiot, stupid, stupid idiot...

"You guys wanna know why I was never interested in finding our parents?" Huey suddenly asked, his gaze still on the window and back facing his brothers.

"I thought it was because you hated them," Louie said, poking his head out from under his blanket, scrubbing at his eyes.

"No, that's not it," Huey replied, still not looking at them.

"Then what?" Dewey asked, hearing how watery his voice sounded. The need to cry had apparently won against the need to scream.

"I don't need them," Huey said, conviction in his tone, "I just need you two."

Dewey looked at Huey's back, and Louie laughed.

"Love you too, Hugh," Louie said teasingly, laughing, and crying, and wiping his face, "Yeah. That-that's right. I just need you guys too."

Dewey leaned back in his chair, smiling up at the ceiling, and letting the tears fall freely. This was how it'd always been. It'd always been the three of them. They always argued, and fought, and laughed, and cried together. This was how it was. How it would always be. This was their normal. And it had always been enough, was enough, would always be enough. The tears just kept coming, but that was okay. He was okay.

He was okay because he was blessed with two amazing, annoying brothers, who loved him unconditionally.

"Me too," Dewey said softly, "I just need you guys."

**Author's Note:**

> Their personalities are from Quack Pack. It hurt me to write this, especially because Scrooge is absolutely timeless. Thank you to those who read. If you liked it, let me know! And a comment always makes my day! I appreciate it when readers share what they thought with me. :)


End file.
